


Fear Of The Unknown

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Friendship, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Mild Language, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of recent events has left Ethan not knowing how to move forward...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Of The Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Narrated by Ethan, self-beta'd.
> 
> ~ While not a Valentine's Day fic per se, it is still very much a love story - hence why I'm using the 14th of February as an excuse to get off my backside and post something.
> 
> ~ I'm not responsible for any mental images you may get at a certain section involving an iPad near the end of the fic. Oh... Who am I kidding. As I wrote it, of course I'm responsible. I'd also be... incredibly... grateful if anyone out there thought they could bring such images to life in visual, chibi form... (If your imagination works like mine does, you'll see... If not, just forget I ever mentioned it!)
> 
> ~ Please, enjoy!

=================  
Fear Of The Unknown  
by TalithaX  
=================

 

Mission accomplished.

It's sad, I know that, just as I also know that it would take more than a threat of torture to get me to ever admit it, but as my hand closes around the door handle and sharp pangs of pain radiate out from -- what's left of -- my knee, my only thought is one of smug, self-congratulatory success.

Mission accomplished.

It not taking much at the moment to strike me as a dull silver lining in a grey, depressing world of doom and gloom, just...

... Go me.

Wrenching the door open just as Luther reaches for the intercom, I dredge up a wan, neutral smile to flash him by way of greeting and, so as not to appear as though I'm trying to stop him from coming in, gingerly take a step back.

"Never having been one to fall for the bullshit scuttlebutt whispered in reverent tones by gullible rookies about you being omniscient," he drawls, giving me a cool, unimpressed look, "what gives with the express door-opening service, huh? You so bored that you've been reduced to watching your security feed for entertainment?"

"I saw you pull up from out of the bedroom window," I reply with a shrug as, translating the sight of the six pack of Bud in his hand to mean that he's not planning on leaving any time soon, I continue to do my very best to blow him away with both my bland smile and palpable lack of enthusiasm for his surprise arrival on my doorstep.

"And... What? If you were delighted enough at the sight of my car to come charging down the stairs to open the door, what's changed between then and now?" Luther mutters. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I wasn't expecting to be welcomed with open arms or anything like that, but, come on, you could at least pretend to be pleased to see me!"

"I..." Shrugging again, I take a further step back and reluctantly gesture for him to come in. "Of course I'm pleased to see you," I respond, "it's just..." Trailing off, I gently close the front door after Luther's walked inside and slowly limp in the direction of the sliding glass doors that will take us out on to the back deck. "I didn't want to risk the sound of the buzzer waking Will," I add matter-of-factly as, playing the role of host even though it's about the last thing I want to be doing, I take the beer from Luther before pulling back the door and stepping outside. "That's all. I saw you from the window and... I wanted to get to you before... uh... you got to the intercom."

Shrugging his acceptance of my explanation, Luther glances back towards the stairs and hesitates over following me on to the deck. "So, he's asleep, yeah?"

"Either that, or pretending to be," I reply as, just not having it in me to be subtle at the moment, I keep my hand on the door and glance pointedly at the outdoor setting. "Either way, I don't want..."

"Him being bothered. Yeah, yeah. I'm fairly certain I've got it now," Luther finishes, clapping his hand down on my shoulder as he walks through the door and takes a seat at the table. "What about you though, you up for being bothered or not?"

"You're here now, so... bother away." Sliding the door shut, I walk over and place the six pack down on the table in front of Luther before, with no small degree of relief, sinking down in to the closest chair and immediately reaching for a beer. Pulling one free, I twist off the lid and hold it up in toast. "Cheers."

Nodding, Luther quickly gets himself a beer and taps it against mine. "Cheers," he echoes, giving me an odd look as he brings the bottle up to his lips and takes a long drink. "You sure your air conditioning is working?" he queries pretty much apropos of nothing as far as I'm concerned as, returning his beer to the table, he glances over his shoulder towards the house. "I know, given the speed you hurried me out here, that I didn't get to spend much time inside, but I could have sworn it felt like a sauna in there."

"The air conditioner is fine," I respond, taking a sip of the beer that, just like Luther's company, I don't really want at all. Luther's one of my oldest friends and, over the years, we've been through a lot together. He's also one of the very few people in this world that I trust close to unconditionally and, generally, I enjoy spending time with him. In fact, the problem here isn't Luther at all. It's me. Feeling as though I'm in danger of being swallowed whole by what can only be described as my current miserable existence, I'm not in the frame of mind for company and wish, not that I'm going to come out and say it, that he hadn't decided to take it upon himself to come around.

"Could have fooled me," he retorts, making himself comfortable in his seat as he gazes up at the admittedly quite brilliantly blue sky. "I accept that you're probably not in any condition to be getting out much at the moment, but... Come on! We're in the middle of a freakin' heatwave. Can't you feel it? It would have to be pushing ninety out here at least."

Accepting that Luther probably doesn't want to hear that, well, I can't actually feel it and, while I'm at it, had no idea that D.C. was in the grips of a heatwave either, I don't reply straight away and simply follow his lead by staring up at the cloudless sky. From somewhere in the neighbourhood I can hear the happy squeals of children splashing around in a pool mingling with the sounds of different lawnmower motors coming from what seems like a number of houses and, with a degree of detachment that almost alarms me, I take this to mean that it must be either Saturday or Sunday.

The weekend.

Two all-too-short days that so many people the world over anxiously look forward to. To me though, just as they have been ever since I first joined the IMF all those years ago, they're just another two days. Wednesday or Sunday. Thanks to the life I've made my own, the actual days of the week mean nothing to me. I always, given all the appointments, flights, and deadlines that colour my world, know what the actual date is and just where it is I have to be at any given time. I just don't know what day of the week it is, that's all. And the reason for this is because I don't have to. My job isn't one that conforms to specific hours or rosters and I just do what has to be done whenever it needs doing. Days off are a luxury that can never be counted on and when they do occur they can do so both anywhere and at any time. Monday or Saturday, it doesn't matter. It's... never... mattered, and yet, suddenly, for reasons I can't even comprehend, yet alone articulate, it...

… Matters.

Everything matters.

The fact I don't, and haven't for so long, even know what day of the week it is. The strangeness of the life I lead and how... distant... I've become from the real world. The fear that Will needs more than I can give him and that, when something, whatever it ends up being, finally gives, I won't know what to do to keep it, let alone everything else, together. The thought that maybe, just maybe, I can't keep putting it off for much longer.

Can't keep ignoring it, or – both figuratively and literally – running from it, and, God forbid, will actually have to face up to it.

It.

The inescapable fact that nothing lasts for ever.

The...

… Future.

Biting back a sigh, I glance at Luther and, solely because I know that I have to both focus on, and... engage in, the here and now as opposed to what I can only liken to the white noise of avoidance in my head, murmur, “The air conditioner is fine. It's just not... on.”

“Not on?” Luther repeats, looking across the table at me as though I'd just casually confessed to wearing women's underwear. “Look at me. I'm in shorts. It's summer. It's hot. And you're sitting here telling me you haven't even got your air conditioning on? Just... What gives, huh? You have a concussion or something that you're not telling me about?”

“It's my knee that's fucked, not my head,” I retort, slumping back in my seat and giving Luther a glum look. “As, however, you seem so fixated on my damn air conditioning, I'll put your mind to rest and tell you that the reason it's not on is because of Will. There. Are you happy now? I neither know nor care what the temperature is, be it inside or out, and just want him to be as comfortable as he's capable of getting at the moment. And... if that means turning the house into a sauna in order to keep him warm, then... Whatever. So be it.”

“Whoa... Defensive much?” Shrugging, Luther flashes me an unbothered smile and, leaning forward, picks up his beer and once again toasts me with it. “Thanks, though. As I'm now clear on the whole air conditioning thing and, before you say it, agree that it's already been done to death, I think it's probably time to move on, don't you?”

“Hallelujah,” I mutter drily. “So long as you're truly satisfied, though. I mean, if there's anything else you'd like to know about the air...”

“Trust me, air conditioner wise, I'm all good,” he interrupts as, looking nothing if not slightly amused at my defensiveness, he calmly takes a mouthful of beer. “What's this about Will needing to keep warm though? If he's got a fever...”

“It's not a fever.”

“No? Then maybe it's a side effect of...”

“Maybe.”

His expression souring a little at my blunt, if not borderline obtuse responses, Luther looks me in the eye for a couple of seconds before lightly tapping his finger against the side of his head. “Perhaps it's all just in here,” he states in a neutral tone. “I know I don't know him as well as you do, but...”

“No. You don't,” I murmur, cutting Luther off as, suddenly feeling bone weary, I slump even further back in my seat. “He... He's always felt the cold,” I continue, dropping my gaze down on to the table. “Just... Seriously, don't even get me started on how he feels about snow. We scored a mission in Canada last year during the heart of winter and the whining about freezing to death was something else again. It... It's just how he is. He likes fires, and lots of blankets, and hot showers, and...” Falling silent, I tilt my head back and, because it's far preferable than accepting the actual truth of the matter, tell myself that the reason tears are threatening to well in my eyes is because the sun is too bright. “They kept him in a refrigerated cool room. I... I don't know if that's got anything to do with why he doesn't seem able to get warm now or not, but... Shit! It... It...”

“It was the bastards just taking things that one step too far,” Luther offers quietly as he closes his hand around my shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze. “Look. We don't have to be talking about this if you're not feeling up to it. Hell. As I really only came around to share a beer and see how things we're going, tell me to mind my own fucking business if you want to.”

Shrugging off Luther's hand, I reach for my beer and roll the bottle between my palms. “We've got to talk about something,” I reply. “Besides, it happened and... not talking about it isn't going to change anything. It happened, and... we're still here, so...” I shrug again. “What more could we fucking want, huh? We live to fight another day and all that bullshit.”

“You're a real treat to be around at the moment, you know that, right?” Luther mutters as, taking another sip of beer, he settles back in his chair. “But, hey, you're right, of course. You are still here and, at the risk of stating the blindingly obvious here, so is Will. He's here and, regardless of both the state he might be in and the funk you're... definitely... in, that's got to be...”

“He's... half... here,” I whisper, cutting Luther off mid pep talk as, not wanting to risk inadvertently catching his gaze, I stare fixedly at my beer bottle. “I mean, yeah, he's here, and God knows I'm grateful, hell, grateful doesn't even begin to cover it, but...” Sighing, I give up on aimlessly rolling the bottle between my hands and move on to aimlessly scratching at the paper label instead. “Whatever. It doesn't matter.”

“You wouldn't have mentioned it if it didn't matter.”

“Forget it. Everything's fine.”

“Fine, huh?”

“Peachy.”

“Peachy,” Luther repeats as, my sullen attitude finally getting the better of him, he gives an amused snort and, stretching out his leg, knocks his foot against mine. “You know, if this you in a... peachy... mood, I'd hate to be around when...”

“What do you want me to say?” I retort, once again cutting him off. “The all important fucking mission was a success, we're all still here, and maybe, if we're really lucky, at some point in the hopefully not too distant future, I might stop feeling like I have no damn idea just what it is I'm doing and Will might even start showing signs of life. So... Yeah. Things are just fucking peachy.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so.” Sitting up straighter in his seat, Luther leans forward and, resting his arms flat on the table, observes me silently for a few moments before, in a conversational tone, stating, “I checked out the mission report last night and, although I'm sure I don't need to be telling you this, it could have been a lot worse. You got your guy and saved the day, and from what I saw on his medical write up, Will's just a bit banged up.”

My indifference at having to be having this conversation at all with Luther flipping effortlessly over into annoyance at his casual, almost dismissive way of viewing what Will's been through, I jerk my head up and glare at him through narrowed eyes. “Excuse me?” I grind out. “Just a bit... banged up? Given that all you've done is have a read of a report, don't you think that's just a bit fucking blasé on your part?”

“You know what I mean,” he replies in the same conversational tone. “Cracked ribs, bruising, dehydration, a few burns here and there and the like, while not nice, are just pretty much one of the unfortunate side effects of what we do.”

“So that makes it all perfectly okay, huh? If it's just part of the small print in our contract, he should just suck it up and move on?”

“That's not what I...”

“It sure sounded like it to me.”

“Oh. Trust me. I'm getting that. What I'm also getting though is that you're in a touchy mood and, as a result of this, there's every chance you'll take just about anything I say the wrong way.”

“The wrong way!” I exclaim as, turning a deaf ear to Luther's acknowledgement of my mood, I continue to glower at him. “Here's a news flash for you. Just because you've read the write up of his injuries doesn't mean you know fucking squat and, while I'm at it, I'd appreciate it if you'd just keep your opinions to yourself.”

Raising his eyebrow at my little outburst, Luther gives me a cool look and, clearly not caring that he's playing with fire here, has the nerve to laugh. “Nah,” he drawls. “Where's the fun in that?”

“Fun? This is... fun... to you?”

“Not particularly, but pushing your buttons never fails to provide...”

“Fuck you!” Scowling, I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. “You... You've just got no right, you know... You weren't involved. You haven't seen him, and...”

“Yet I still know that, physically, your knee is going to take far longer to heal than any of Will's injuries,” Luther replies with a small shrug. “Look. I get that you're in a mood and that, if I knew what was good for me, I'd leave well enough alone and be on my way, but... I'm not having a go, okay, and am just trying to get to the bottom of what's got you so down in the damn dumps.”

“Try... everything,” I mutter, flashing Luther the grimmest of apologetic smiles as, better late than never, I begrudgingly accept that, despite still not wanting his company, he doesn't deserve to be bearing the brunt of my bad mood. “I'm just...” Not even knowing how to explain it, I unfold my arms and shrug. “I suppose it's all just getting to me a bit at the moment. The mission. What happened to Will and what it's taken out of him...” Pausing again, I look Luther in the eye and sigh. “You're right, of course, about his physical injuries being on the... uh... mundane side, but...”

“I never said they were mundane. More that...”

“They could have been worse,” I reply with another sigh. “And, again, you're right. They could have been a lot, lot worse and, in a way, he was lucky to get out of it in as good a physical condition as he did, but...”

“But...” Luther prompts. “What they did to him was more than just physical, wasn't it?”

“What do you think?” Relaxing back in my chair, I run my fingers through my hair and, proving, I suspect, that now I've started I'm not going to be able to stop, sigh heavily. “Not that he's exactly been forthcoming on the subject, but I get the impression the beatings were nothing compared to what they put him through mentally.”

“Oh...”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“But you don't know...”

“All the specifics? No. I don't. And I'm not sure I want to, either.”

“That bad?”

“Without even demanding any information or giving him an option to try to stop it,” I state in a quiet, flat tone, “they slowly tortured and killed some other guy in front of him just to... explicitly show what they were planning to do to him and, I think, just about everyone he knows, in the future.”

“Shit, man, that's just... nasty,” Luther mutters with obvious disgust.

“I think it took all day to kill him, too. They... I don't think they gave him any option to try to save the guy either and... Shit, Luther! The bastards made Will watch every second of them carving him up...”

“While at the same time leading him to believe that's what they were going to do to him, too. That... Again, that really is just... nasty.”

“It's sick, that's what it is,” I correct as yet another sigh slips past my lips. “Will, he... Physically he's as tough as any of us and, you're right, his injuries are pretty much neither here nor there and will quickly heal. Mentally, though...”

“They honed in on his weak spot and exploited it?”

“That...” I nod. “That's one way of looking at it. They played on his mind, not only by making him watch them kill that guy, but also by getting into his ear about what they were going to do to Jane if they got their hands on her, and it... it's just done a number on him. It... Hell. It's done a real number on him. He's healing physically, and he's here, but at the same time he's... not here, not really.”

“Not wanting to talk about it?” Luther offers.

I shake my head and – you guessed it – sigh. “Try not talking... period,” I reply glumly. “Not just about what happened, either. He... He'll make small talk, if I push him hard enough, and he follows prompts, you know, to eat or shower or whatever, unquestioningly, but other than that...” Trailing off, I shrug helplessly and rub my hand over my forehead. “I mean, I know that it's still early days and all that, but... It's just hard. I don't know how to help him and, yeah, it's getting to me.”

“At the risk of setting you off again, have you thought about giving the Sanctuary a go?” Luther queries both quietly and tentatively. “If he's that bad, perhaps, and you know I don't say this lightly given my general opinion of the place, it might actually do him some good.”

“Not wanting to be seen as a nuisance, he's already volunteered to book himself in if I've had enough of him,” I murmur as, this particular topic being just a little too close to my battle scarred heart, I can't help but pull a face. While I have no issue with the Sanctuary, the IMF's... extended care 'retreat' for broken agents, in principal and do actually feel it can, in some cases, prove useful, I just don't want Will to have to have anything to do with it. The location, with its manicured lawns and landscaped to perfection gardens, is lovely, and the building itself is both perfectly appointed and comfortable, but it's still ultimately just an asylum for those who can no longer cope with reality and the thought of Will retreating behind its walls is something that's quite frankly unbearable to me.

“If he's already suggested it, why...”

“No,” I interrupt in a blunt, no-nonsense tone. “He's not going in to the Sanctuary.”

“But...”

“Just drop it, Luther. He's not going and that's all there is to it.”

“Is that you talking, Ethan, or Will? If he believes he'd be better off having a stint in the Sanctuary and you're just keeping him with you out of stubbornness...”

“It's not stubbornness.”

“No?”

“No. It's not.”

“Don't forget I know you, Ethan, and this means I know that giving up simply isn't in your nature. This however isn't about you, it's about Will, and if he needs...”

“It's not stubbornness,” I repeat, cutting Luther off. “It... It's selfishness.”

“Selfishness? What are you...”

“I don't want to talk about it, okay,” I mutter, giving him the sort of look that I really, really hope he correctly translates to just... leave well enough alone and move on. “If I thought for a second being exposed to twenty-four-seven psychiatrists and being surrounded by drugged up zombies hiding from their memories would help Will then, believe me, I'd pack his bag and drive him to the Sanctuary myself. As, however, he's never shown any more of a willingness to talk to shrinks than I have, I... I just want him to stay with me for reasons of pure selfishness and that, really, is all I want to say about it, so... Seriously, Luther, just drop it.”

I'm not, even if he continues to harp on about it, going to explain myself to Luther and mentally cross my fingers that he gets my less than subtle hint to just move on as this, perhaps more than anything, just isn't something I feel capable of talking about. It's just too personal. We may not be talking much, and the sight of Will looking so frail and... depressed... may very well be sucking the life out of me, but...

… He's still here.

And we're still sleeping together.

Granted, it's on opposite sides of the mattress thanks to Will's ribs and my knee meaning we both have to sleep on our backs, but...

… I still know that he's there.

I can hear him breathing, and I can feel the mattress shift under his weight when he moves and, selfishly, I'm just not prepared to give that up. The four days that he was missing having been the longest we'd been apart for close to two years now, the thought of not having him with me, even if I did actually know where he was, just isn't something I'm willing to contemplate at the moment. If, like I said to Luther, I thought it would be in Will's best interests then, sure, even though it would be hard and I'd probably go so far as to ask whether they'd give me the room next to his, I'd reluctantly send him off to the Sanctuary. As I know the only reason he would have even suggested it was because he – unselfishly – would have been wanting to free me from the perceived burden of his care though, then... Forget it. I may be feeling helpless, and I may not be all that confident as to what the future might hold, but he's certainly not a burden and, in a way, just knowing that he's here, that if I wanted to I could walk inside right now and see him, is a much needed positive just in itself.

So, I can't.

I just can't let him go.

I may not be able to help him, and, who knows, I may even be doing him more harm than good by more or less just leaving him to his own depressed devices as I have been, but I can't let him go either.

“I still...”

“Remember that plane trip back from Italy with Davian?” I query, looking Luther directly in the eye as I both talk over the top of him and make no attempt whatsoever to disguise the fact I'm blatantly changing the subject. 

“Remember it?” he retorts, holding my gaze even as, having known me long enough to know when to just quit while he was arguably ahead, he gives a truly impressive a mock shudder. “I still have nightmares about it.”

“Wasn't pretty, was it...”

“Pretty? No. If you'd gone with... possessed, however...”

“Possessed,” I murmur with a nod as, picking up my beer, I go back to scratching at what's left of the label. “That's probably a good way of putting it, too.”

“Why do I get the impression that I'm not going to like where this is going, huh?”

“Because, albeit deeply hidden, you're actually far more intelligent and perceptive than you look.”

“Aaaw. Enough with the sweet talk and just get to the damn point already.”

“We...” Sighing, I drop my gaze to the bottle and concentrate on tearing off a strip of the Bud label for a few seconds before adding, “We caught a member of the cartel...”

“After Will had gone missing, you mean?”

“Uh-huh. Not knowing where to start looking for him, we picked up one of the cartel's... underlings... in the hope of extracting information out of him.”

“And now I... know... I'm not going to like what's coming,” Luther retorts as, perhaps feeling as though he needs to brace himself, he picks up his bottle and quickly takes a gulp of beer. “Don't tell me, let me guess. It was Davian all over again?”

I shake my head. “No. It was worse. If... If Jane hadn't been there I'm not sure I would have stopped.”

“You... just did what you thought you had to do,” he replies with a hint of doubt in his voice as he reaches out his hand and touches the tips of his fingers to my wrist.

Pulling my hand back, I shake my head again and sigh. “I went too far,” I murmur. “All I could think of was finding Will and... I went too far.” Abruptly pushing back my chair, I get to my feet and, as my knee complains at having to hold up my weight, limp over to the edge of the deck. “I... I don't want to be... that... person,” I add quietly as, keeping my back to Luther, I gaze out over the garden and the lush green lawn that, as I'm hardly ever home, I have to pay a gardener to maintain. “I mean, I'll always be prepared to do whatever it takes, but... I lost it. I really lost it and... it wasn't pretty. He didn't know anything, and at some point I even accepted this, but...”

“You couldn't stop,” Luther finishes as he gets up from his chair and walks over to stand next to me.

“I... I didn't... want... to stop,” I correct, glancing at Luther and giving him a rueful look as I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans and hunch my shoulders. “Because he was the only physical link we had to the assholes that were holding Will, he... he...”

“Just copped the lot,” Luther interjects with a nod of understanding. “You don't have to explain, or try to justify it to me as I get it. Someone you care about was missing and your only goal, regardless of the cost, was to get him back. Let's face it, it's human nature.”

“I still went too far,” I reply, “and, like I just said, I don't want to be that person, the one who doesn't know when to stop. It...” Shrugging, I return my gaze to the garden. “If you must know, it actually frightened me, and I suppose I'm now just afraid of it happening again and... if that's case, whether I'll even be able to stop myself or not.”

“Well, you know as well as I do that the only way to protect yourself from it ever happening again is to remove the emotion out of the equation,” he responds, “and, I don't know, I think it's a little too late for that, don't you?”

“I... I could give up the team and go solo. That would negate the whole... too emotionally involved... issue.”

“It would,” Luther agrees as, shifting closer to me, he gives me a gentle bump with his elbow. “But could you do it? Could you give up your tight knit little team and go off on your own? More to the point, and at the risk of going with the obvious here, could you give up Will?”

“I...” Shrugging, I shift away from Luther and, not exactly surprisingly, wish I'd never blindly stumbled on to this particular topic. Sure, it might be getting dangerously close to the heart of what's really bothering me at the moment, but that doesn't mean I actually want to talk about it with anyone. “Maybe... Maybe it's all inevitable...”

“Why?” Luther demands as he follows me across the decking and positions himself directly in front of me. “What's really going on here, Ethan? I know you've never been known for your patience, but Will's going to recover in time and...”

“What if this was just the final straw and he doesn't want to return to field work?” I murmur, looking Luther in the eye and all but daring him to try to make light of the massive dilemma I currently feel as though I have in front of me. “You haven't seen him. He's not taking what happened well and I'm not sure...”

“You asked him?”

“Not yet, no. Like I think I said earlier, he's not exactly talking at the moment.”

“Then you're putting words into his mouth.”

“You haven't seen him.”

“You said that already.

“I just...”

“You're just worried that he might be wanting to call it quits and, if he does, where exactly that's going to leave you.”

“Uh...” A little startled by the way Luther was able to so quickly hone in on the crux of the matter, I give a small nod. “Something like that, yeah. There's just so much to consider, you know. If Will's had enough of field work, then what? Sure, he could go back to being an analyst, but... Look where that got him last time. Same with me and my failed attempt at making my peace with becoming a trainer. If we stay with the IMF...

“We?” Luther interrupts, giving me an odd look. “Where'd this... we... come from? I thought you were just talking about Will.”

“Not liking the person I turned into while dealing with that nobody from the cartel, maybe I need to rethink my future too,” I reply with both a shrug and a sigh. “I... I just don't know what the future holds, okay? Hell. I don't even know what I want. IMF? Or, if not IMF, then what? You don't need to tell me it's all I know. Or even that, yes, I had always assumed I'd just meet my maker out in the field. I just... Now, though... Maybe we are getting too old. Maybe there... is... more to life. I... God! I just don't know. Luther, I honestly don't know what I want.”

“You mightn't, but I do,” Luther replies very much matter of factly as, placing his hand on my shoulder, he slowly turns me around so that I'm facing the house. “And that,” he continues, looking pointedly towards the upper floor, “just happens to sleeping upstairs. To IMF or not to IMF I can't, even though I wish I could, help you with, but what I can tell you with one-hundred percent fucking certainty is that what you still want and, while I'm at it, need, is Will. I know, I know. I wasn't sold on him...”

“Not sold on him?” I snort. “That's... underplaying it a bit, isn't it? I mean, I seem to recall you trying to go above and beyond in your lectures as to why I didn't need a basket case desk jokey on my team.”

“You're right,” he replies, giving me an easy smile as he closes his hand around my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I thought you were making a mistake and, being your friend, I felt it was my duty to inform you.”

“Inform? Is that what all that lecturing was?”

“I was determined to get my point across.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, thankfully, as it turned out, you were determined to ignore me.”

“Thankfully?” 

“Mmm... Thankfully. I know it doesn't happen very often, but in this instance I'm actually happy to say that I was wrong. Maybe I haven't come out and said it in as many words, but I was definitely wrong. Will, he's both a good agent and good for the team, and, yeah, he's good for you. Make that... incredibly fucking good for you. So... Worry about what you're going to do with yourself all you like, but don't worry about who you're going to do it with as I like to think that's a given.”

“Yeah...” Smiling, I give Luther a nod of thanks for somehow knowing to say just what it is I was needing to hear. “I like to think it's a given, too,” I murmur as, my knee suddenly telling me in no uncertain terms that it's had enough of me being on my feet, I pull a face and hobble over to lean against the wall. “Damn! Of course, in the midst of this future talk there's... this!” I gesture at my offending knee and roll my eyes. “You'd think I'd had my kneecap shot off or something like that but, no, I only landed on it, awkwardly, as it happens, and now the doc's back to threatening me with a full replacement.”

“And?” Shrugging, Luther walks over to the table and picks up his beer. “Given the fucked state of that knee, and the fact it's not going to just repair itself, why don't you bite the bullet and book in for the op?”

“Because it'd put me out of action for at least six months, that's why,” I reply, grimacing as I lean forward and press my hand down on me knee.

“So?”

“Six months is a long time to be stuck on my ass.”

“Not when you might have some big decisions to make about your future it isn't,” Luther responds just a touch smugly as he brings the bottle up to his lips and finishes his beer. “Think about it. Why rush into something when, completely legitimately, you can take six months to work things through...”

“I...”

“Hadn't thought about it quite that way before, huh?”

“Er...” I shake my head. “No. I hadn't. Not at all, in fact.”

“But you'll think about it now, yeah?” he queries, glancing at his watch before starting to move towards the door.

“Actually, I will,” I reply as, pushing away from the wall, I slowly follow Luther back into the house. “I take it, having delivered your little...”

“Kick up the ass?”

“Fine. Having delivered your kick up the ass, you're now leaving?”

“Mmm... Places to go, people to see,” he states with a grin as he claps his hand down on my back. “Look. While I ain't going to say it's been fun, it has still been good to see you and I hope, I really do, that you've gotten at least... something... out of my visit. Yeah, things might seem bad at the moment, but never forget that you've still got friends to... kick you up the ass when you need it, and, most importantly of all, you've still got him upstairs. So... Cheer up, book in for the knee op, and think happy thoughts.”

Laughing, I get in front of Luther and open the front door for him. “Ever thought of a career in motivational speaking?”

“It's always an option, right,” he retorts, stepping through the door and giving me a small wave over his shoulder. “Just... Take everything I said on board, Ethan, and... don't do anything stupid.”

“I'll certainly try,” I respond, leaning against the door frame as he makes his way along the path “See you, Luther, and... uh... Thanks. It was good to see you.”

“Of course it was,” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder at me as he opens the gate and walks through it. “I'll be seeing you.”

“Mmm... That you will.” 

Once Luther is in his car, I straighten up and close the front door before coming to the quick conclusion that I could do with a cup of coffee and heading towards the kitchen. Luther's visit having left me in a far better frame of mind than I woke up in, I turn the coffee machine on and, without even pausing to think about whether Will's awake or not, instinctively reach for two cups. While admittedly I'm no closer to knowing what our long term future is going to hold, what I am is far less concerned about it as, basically, what Luther managed to get through to me is completely right and it isn't, contrary to the way I've been carrying on, something that has to be done and dusted in the shortest time frame imaginable.

What he also happened to be right about is the fact that, above and beyond absolutely everything else, I want Will. I want to be with him, I want to be there for him, and I definitely don't want to lose what we've worked so hard to achieve. If it takes him longer to recover than it takes for me to recover from my knee replacement, then... So be it. If he doesn't want to return to field work, or thinks he'd like to go back to being an analyst, or confesses that he'd like to take up landscape gardening or cake decorating, then...

… I'll take it in my stride.

When the time is right, we'll talk it all through and, regardless of how long it may take or however many different options may be raised on the way, we'll get there.

Together.

We'll get there together and, right now, having accepted this as a given in a world otherwise full of uncertainties is just a positive all in itself. Things might be far from great, and the way forward might prove to be both long and difficult, but, at the same time, I already know that it'll be worth it. Whatever changes we have to make, and wherever we end up, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it'll definitely be worth it.

I just have to be patient, that's all.

No quick fixes, no knee-jerk reaction to either close myself off or turn, simply because it's what I've always known, back to field work in preference to opening myself up to – God forbid – a possibly IMF-free future, just...

… However long it takes to reach the right decision. The right, well thought out and considered decision that, as it may well set up the rest of our lives, we'll both be happy with.

It's only a simple, logical even, realisation to come to, one that I probably shouldn't have taken anywhere near this amount of time to reach, but...

Better late than never, I'm here now.

And, what's more, here, primed and ready for whatever may be coming, is where I'm going to stay.

Sensing movement behind me just as the coffee starts to flow down into the cups, I turn around and find Will leaning against the door frame. Wearing his old, seemingly much loved and definitely seen better years, dark grey robe over blue cotton pyjama pants and a black long sleeved T-shirt, he looks, with his pale skin, dark circles under his eyes and light covering of stubble, both bedraggled and clearly unwell. There being nothing wrong with my eyesight, I can see, and even acknowledge this without hesitation, but instead of feeling a sense of dismay or sorrow at the sight of him, my overriding feeling is one of relief.

Alive.

Safe.

Here.

I felt it when I finally laid eyes on him, strapped to a chair, barely conscious and covered in blood, in that damn cool room, and I feel it now.

Just...

… Relief.

That, and for all the question marks hanging over the future, he really is the most important, if not the... only... important part of my life.

“Hey,” I murmur with a smile as, with great restraint, I somehow control the urge to risk his still healing ribs by hurrying over and just giving him a great big hug. “What are you doing up?”

“I...” Blinking, Will wraps his left arm loosely around his waist and gives me an odd, confused look. “I thought I heard you talking to someone,” he replies faintly, “but it looks like I must have been dreaming.”

“Nope.” Still smiling, I give a quick shake of my head. “Not dreaming. Luther called around for a visit and you've only just missed him.”

“Oh.”

“He came around with a six pack for a chat,” I respond, glancing past Will and in the general vicinity of the back deck. “A six pack that's now more of a four pack and which, I suppose, I should probably retrieve from the table on the deck before the heat gets to it.”

“Heat?” Will queries, looking, it just has to be said, even more confused than he had a moment ago. “Is it really that warm outside?”

“If I'm to believe the way Luther carried on, we're actually in the grips of a heatwave and it's pushing something like ninety degrees out there,” I state as, Will's vague, befuddled behaviour starting to get the better of me, I hesitate over making my way over to him. “I mean, it is summer, so he could be right, but...”

“My feet are cold,” Will interjects plainly as, blinking again, his expression falls and he gives me a miserable look. “You're telling me that it's a lovely summer's day out there, and... and, even though I'm inside, I feel as though I'm freezing. That... That's just not right, and I...”

“Then go back to bed, or, if you'd like the cup of coffee I've almost finished making for you, head into the living room and settle yourself on the sofa.” Not wanting, although it's hard, to make Will regret having come downstairs by making an issue out of how he's feeling and indulging in a spot of over-protectiveness, I force myself to turn my attention back to finishing off the coffees. “Alternatively, I can always bring it upstairs if you'd prefer to just get back into bed.”

“No... Your knee... You don't need to... I...” Trailing off, Will sighs heavily and, as I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder, slowly pushes away from the doorway and turns in the direction of the living room. “As I would like a coffee, if you're okay with...”

“Of course I'm okay with bringing it into the living room,” I interrupt, mentally breathing a sigh of relief at his obvious willingness to remain downstairs instead of just, as I've become used to, retreating straight to bed. “So, just go and make yourself comfortable, and I'll join you in a minute.”

Turning back to the coffee machine once Will has disappeared from sight, I decide – as, hey, it really is all about the small things at the moment – to froth some extra milk to go on top of the coffees and, smiling to myself, quickly set about making it happen. Not content at leaving it at that, I then ferret through the – junk – draw under the microwave until I find the close-to-perfectly-pointless heart shaped stencil that Benji, thanks to far too many hours watching Youtube clips on coffee art, felt compelled to give me last Christmas and, once the milk has finished frothing, place it on the top of the closest cup. This done, I grab the cocoa from its spot next to the coffee cannister and both swiftly, and with an artistic flair that surprises even myself, shake a small covering over the stencil. Removing it, I admire my art work – such as it is – for a moment or two before picking up both the cups and making my way out of the kitchen. It really is only a small, and, yes, perfectly pointless thing, but I derive as much satisfaction as I do pleasure from my attempt at embellishing Will's coffee and mentally cross my fingers that he at least notices the effort I went to with it.

Entering the living room, I find Will sitting, looking, it just has to be noted, anything but comfortable on the sofa and hand him his coffee with a mock bow before lowering myself down next to him.

His eyes widening as he takes in the cocoa heart floating on the top of his coffee, Wills curls both of his hands around the cup and, without looking at me, murmurs in a small, soft voice, “Still?”

Taking his odd, seemingly random query to mean he's either wanting to know if I still love him or, if I do, questioning just... why... it is I might still feel that way, I nod and gently place my free hand down on his thigh. “Always,” I reply adamantly, my response not even being one I have to think about. “Always and forever.”

A blink-and-you'd miss it smile flickering over Will's lips, he nods to himself and, without looking up from his cup, shifts just that little bit closer to me. “Thanks.”

Unsure as to whether he's thanking me for the coffee or for confirming that my feelings towards him haven't changed, I decide not to risk finding out by answering and, after carefully placing my cup on the arm of the sofa, lean forward and pick the iPad up from the coffee-table. Flipping open the case, I turn it on and, not so much because I think Luther was pulling my leg but because I'm a fully paid up member of the 'seeing is believing' school of thought, quickly access a weather app. Reading on the screen that, okay, fine, Luther wasn't far off the mark at all, I hold the tablet out towards Will and tap my finger against it. “Check it out. While airily declaring it to be in the nineties was a little over the top, look... There might be some weight to Luther's heatwave theory after all as it is actually pushing ninety.”

“I...” Glancing up from his coffee, Will takes in the temperature spelt out on the screen in front of him and sighs. “I kind of wish I hadn't seen that,” he murmurs. “I mean, here I am wondering if I'm ever going to warm up, and there you are proving beyond all doubt that it's a lovely summer's day and it... I suppose you could say it just makes me feel pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Shaking my head, I place the iPad down on my lap and return my hand to Will's leg. “Don't be so hard on yourself. You're still healing.”

“Physically, maybe,” he mutters. “Mentally though... Oh God, Ethan... I... I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry that...”

“Hey! Enough of that, yeah,” I state, curling my fingers around his thigh and, as he reluctantly turns to face me, giving him what I really hope is a reassuring smile. “Come on, Will. You've got nothing to apologise for and, while I'm at it, nothing to worry about either. Don't forget you've only been out of the infirmary for five days and your body really is still healing.”

“Yeah, but...” Sighing again, he takes a small sip of coffee and gazes down at his lap. “It's not my body that's the problem. I know that it'll heal. I also know, regardless of my melodramatic turn a moment ago, that all being well there'll come a time when I no longer feel so cold, but that... That's as far as my half-assed attempt at positivity gets. Everything else... I know you don't want to hear this, but I honestly feel as though everything else is beyond me.”

“It's okay. I get it, I do,” I reply, leaning closer to Will and resting my shoulder against his. “You've been through a lot, and no-one's expecting any more from you than you're able to give. So...”

“Harden the fuck up?” Will mutters, giving me a wry look even as he presses up against my arm. “Ethan, you... I'm sorry, but I don't think you do get it. I... I've just lost it. It... I don't know, it's like I've lost the ability, or perhaps even the willingness, to fight. I know what I should, hell, what I need to be doing, but I just can't. I could even write a report on the steps I know that I need to take, but... that's where it ends. I lie in bed telling myself that I've got to just suck it up and get my shit together, but, again, that's as far as it goes, and I... I just don't know what to do...”

Nothing Will's just said coming as any great surprise to me, I decide against honing straight in on attempting to lecture his concerns away and once again turn my attention to the iPad. Turning it back on, I bring up Safari and, as Will stares glumly at his coffee, type four words that I never thought I'd ever enter into a Google image search. Watching the rows of – slightly surreal – thumbnails fill the screen, I manfully resist the urge to smirk and, hoping like crazy that this really is the right way to be going about things, place the tablet down on Will's lap. “So...” Beaming, I settle back against the sofa and pick up my coffee. “What one will it be, huh?”

“Uh...” An expression of almost comical shock settling over Will's face as he stares down at the – definitely random – images on the screen in front of him, he opens his mouth as though in preparation of wanting to say something but, somewhat to my amusement, absolutely nothing comes out and he has to settle for simply shaking his head.

“Cat got your tongue?” I query cheerfully as, leaning closer, I feign fascination with the... Sexy Male Nurse Costumes... filling the iPad screen. “Just... What'll it be, huh? The tight, white dress with the over-the-knee white stockings, or the, admittedly leaves nothing to the imagination white briefs with the red cross emblazoned on the front?”

“I... At the risk of either disappointing you or... uh... stating the obvious, I... I don't get it,” he murmurs hesitantly as, frowning, he looks up from the tablet and glances at me. “Ethan, I... I don't want you to feel as though you have look after me, let alone... uh... dress up as a nurse.”

“Oh!” Affecting an innocent expression, I take the iPad back and pretend to study it closely. “It's not for... me,” I declare, choking back a laugh as, this clearly being the last thing he ever expected to hear, Will just stares at me in open-mouthed shock. “What? You're the one that jumped to that particular conclusion.”

“Then... Who is it for, then?” Will queries with obvious suspicion as, no doubt trying to cling desperately to the belief that, no, I... wouldn't... be that deranged, he continues to stare at me with a look of equal parts consternation and confusion on his face. “I don't... You... You're not making any sense.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you're adorable when you're behind the eight ball?” I tease as I tap on the thumbnail of a well built, overly tanned man wearing a stereo-typically 'sexy' nurse's dress and, as the image fills the screen, once again holding the tablet towards Will. “What do you reckon, huh? Do you think you could carry it off?”

“Me?” Will – and, really, there's no two ways about it – all but shrieks as his expression, if I'm not mistaken, changes to one of concern. “Ethan? I... You've never mentioned anything about... uh... dressing up before, and... uh... I...” Sighing, he takes the iPad from me and, after turning it off, places it down on the coffee-table. “I'm sorry,” he adds in a whisper, “but, and maybe it's just the story of my life at the moment, I... I'm not getting it. If you want me to... uh... play 'dress up', then...”

“It's okay, Will,” I state as, having had my fun, I decide to take pity on him and put an end to just whatever... freaky... direction his imagination is taking him in. “I don't, although, hey, I'm not saying it wouldn't... uh... have its own set of, shall we say, benefits, want you to dress up for me and was just using the... costume-angle... as a possibly ill-advised way of broaching the fact that I...” Pausing, I take the cup out of Will's hand and place it on the coffee-table next to the iPad before, with a hopeful smile, closing my hands around both of his and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Believe it or not, what I'm trying to say here is that... I'm hoping you might be able to find it in yourself to look after, or... nurse... me while I'm recovering from the knee replacement I'm planning in the very near future...”

“Your...” His expression still one of astonishment as the penny – 'well, shit, the crazy bastard is actually making sense after all' – finally drops, Will blinks at me as a cautious smile slowly tugs on his lips. “I thought you were... dead against... having it done because of how long it would take...”

“You mean like the minimum of six months it's going to take me to be so much as... considered... fit for active duty?” I interrupt, rubbing my thumbs along Will's wrists. “The six... long... months of being stuck on my ass with... little else to do with my time than consider just what it is I might like my future to hold?”

“Six months,” Will repeats as – daring, I suspect, to believe – his smile broadens and he pulls his hands free of mine only to entwine our fingers warmly together. “Ethan... You know my opinion has always been that, not liking seeing you in pain, you need to have the op, but...”

“Six months,” I murmur, looking Will in the eye and absolutely loving how... captivated... he now seems in relation to where things appear to be going. “I'll be out of action for six months and, if you're okay with the idea of sticking around for all that time, I thought you might like to put it to good use by working with me to decide...”

“Where we might want to be when the time's up,” he finishes a tad breathlessly. “I... Oh my God, you have no idea how... freakin' wonderful... that sounds. I mean, just thinking about... getting straight back to it... at the moment has been doing my head in, so... Hell... Just the mere thought of what it is you're offering is enough to lift the weight from my shoulders. You... Seriously. I don't know how you do it, but somehow you just always know the right, most perfectly... timed... thing to say...”

“Six months.” I know I'm repeating myself like a cracked record, but, as it really is my trump card, I just want it to fully sink in. “Six months to, if we like, ignore the elephant in the room for five of them before spending the last month throwing ideas into a hat and just going with the first one we pull out. Six months to decide between... field work, training, analysis, just being a retired bum, having a mid-life crisis and opening, oh God, I don't even know, a store or bistro of some description... Just... Anything. Whatever. We wouldn't have to rush it, and we could work it all through together, and...”

“Together,” Will echoes, pressing his thigh against mine as, looking both alert and relieved, he gives my cheek a quick kiss. “That's the most important thing, isn't it... We have to do this together and, again, just knowing that you're on the same page as I've been feeling stuck on is... It... It's just amazing, that's what it is. I just... Again, I just don't know how you do it.”

My own sense of relief almost knowing no bounds at just how effortlessly – not to mention enthusiastically – Will has jumped on board with my plan of taking six months to work things through, I pull my hand away from his and drape my arm around his shoulders. “I think you'd find that the reason I'm able to do it is because it just happens to be something I feel strongly about,” I murmur, hugging him against me. “You... You're something I feel strongly about and, you're right, we'll work through this together. We'll listen to each other, and when all of the options are on the table we'll break them down and cover all the bases before making a decision, and, you're right, we'll do it all together.”

Together.

Side-by-side.

And, regardless of what it is we might end up doing, in it for the long haul.

~ end ~


End file.
